


veretian midnight sexpress

by Anonymous



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Touch, Chikan, Creampie, Degrading Praise, Fingering, M/M, Molestation, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Pearl Necklace, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, Train Sex, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Laurent takes the late train back to his boarding school and encounters trouble along the way.
Relationships: Govart/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 98
Collections: Anonymous





	veretian midnight sexpress

He’d made himself impossible to ignore. The way the man had pressed up against Laurent on the crowded train, hips fitting to the back of Laurent’s. And even when the already sparse company of the train car had begun to disappear as they passed through station after station, the man hadn’t budged. In fact, he’d only seemed to inch closer. 

When a hand reached around to cup Laurent’s crotch, there wasn’t a single soul left to help him. 

“ _Stop_ ,” Laurent said. 

“So you _do_ have a cock,” the man rumbled by his ear in a way that sent Laurent’s heart thundering. 

This man—his heat, his size, his strength—was overwhelming. Laurent tried to shrink himself into the wall, praying that somehow he might blend in with the poster behind him. At least long enough for him to flee at the next stop. 

“Come here.” The man grabbed Laurent at the hip and shoulder, roughly jostling him from his hiding place and shoving him up against the doors. 

Through the windows, a distant skyline streamed past in outlines of pulsing white light beneath a dark and starless sky. “See that?" said the man. "We aren’t gonna be stopping anytime soon.” 

“What about the cameras?” Laurent's voice was laced with scorn. 

“What cameras?” 

_There were no fucking cameras._

The man’s arms were thick as Laurent’s thighs, his large hands roaming around Laurent’s chest where they grabbed his shirt and ripped it open. A pearlescent button clacked on the window, only emphasizing how trapped Laurent was. Calloused fingers pinched at one of his nipples, threatening bruises with each, careless touch. 

Laurent attempted to yank himself from the man’s grip, only to have his head bashed against his clouded reflection. 

“You ever been fucked before, Princess?” The other hand was back at Laurent’s crotch, belt coming undone with unsettling ease, the man already dragging down his pants and briefs. 

“When I get out of here, you won’t have a cock to fuck with,” Laurent spat. His teeth ground together as the swell of his ass was left exposed. “Fuck you.” 

The man gave a cruel chuckle, “Stop whining, I’ll fuck you good.” 

He gave Laurent’s ass an appreciative squeeze, before bringing his hand up to Laurent’s mouth. 

“Suck ‘em,” he said, prodding at Laurent’s lips. “You’ll want ‘em nice and wet.” 

“All this to fuck me, and you didn’t bring lube?” 

“You want it dry?” 

In a situation as precarious as this, Laurent knew his vicious mouth would do him more harm than good. Reluctantly, he parted his lips. 

The man immediately crammed two fingers into his mouth, massaging along the span of his tongue and teasing dangerously close to Laurent’s gag reflex, as if to test his findings for later. Laurent wished he had choked. 

“Need some more?” The man licked a hot stripe along the shell of Laurent’s ear. 

“Fuck off.” 

A slick finger wedged itself between Laurent’s cheeks, coming to circle his rim, threatening to pierce inside at a moment’s notice. 

Laurent jumped as the man dug his nail into the sensitive flesh. Without warning, he shoved the finger into Laurent’s hole, a horrible burn accompanying the intrusion. Fire razed up Laurent’s spine, the hair on his neck coming to stand on end. Like a cornered animal. 

By the time the man had two fingers roughly fucking into him, Laurent was having trouble controlling his breathing. Before his facade could crack, the man pulled back. He held Laurent open, inspecting his work. Then came the sound of him spitting, and the terrible, slimy chill of the man’s saliva running down Laurent’s skin and seeping into his exposed hole. The man spat again, better aimed but still too high. 

“You’re a horrible shot,” Laurent said from over his shoulder. 

That earned him a hard slap to the ass—two, then three. The sting wasn’t smoothed by the constant kneading of his ass. As if the man still couldn’t believe he was actually touching Laurent. 

“I’ve been dying to shut you up.” 

With his thumb still pushing through Laurent’s softening rim, the man somehow managed to undo his own pants—if the sound of a belt and zipper was any indication. 

Shuffling steps and wet sounds as the man lined himself up. He plunged his hardened cock into Laurent’s hole. 

Laurent gasped. 

It was solid as a punch to the gut, the air knocked from his chest, vision blurring at the edges. Akin to the tearing of flesh, ripped apart by a licentious pig who lived only to see his lust satiated. Laurent kept his eyes—his brilliant blue eyes that everyone told him shined like sapphires—trained on his reflection. 

_Endure it._ Endure the swallowing of hot coals and the sear of their edges inside him. 

Willing himself to relax, Laurent released a shuddering breath. His legs stopped shaking. The train car rocked. 

He felt his hole close around the spongy cockhead. But the man didn’t stop to let him adjust, breaching Laurent inch by inch until he’d forced Laurent’s scrambling hands to brace up against the unyielding, metal doors. 

“Tight.” He could practically hear the man’s smirk, voice gruff on Laurent’s neck. “You’re a hot piece of ass.” 

“Is that why today must be my lucky day?” 

“Been a while since I fucked some virgin, schoolboy cunt. Hard to find one as pretty and stupid as you. At least, one that’s not a whore.” 

It _was_ stupid of him. Laurent had been pulling late hours at Delpheur Public Library since every book covering the Akielo-Veretian War on the academy’s shelves were unapologetically Veretian biased. 

He hadn’t told anyone what time to expect him back and he couldn’t now that his phone had died. This had been the last train that ran all the way to Arles, and Laurent certainly wasn’t going to allow himself to be late for classes tomorrow. 

_Dammit._

The man pulled Laurent’s hips back, sheathing his cock inside completely. Laurent held a mangled sound in his throat. 

The man set a punishing pace, fucking into Laurent without pause, brutal in his hold on him. The agonizing drag of his cock, the lewd slap of skin on skin. Laurent buried his face in his arm, biting at the bunched fabric of his shirt, now half hanging off of his body. 

When the man’s cock somehow slipped out of him, Laurent heard a gruff “Shit,” before a hand wrapped around Laurent’s thigh, lifted it, and plunged back inside. His thrusts were deeper now, red and raw, as though digging through the very flesh. 

Laurent thought he could hear the creak and snap of his bones. 

He watched his own, debauched reflection. Every twist of his sweat-damp face, the tightly drawn muscles from his neck to his jaw. Through it all, Laurent could see the night. The city was a distant light. Laurent himself was transparent, ephemeral. 

He clung to that thought. This version of himself—of getting raped on a train—was only temporary. Soon, he’d be back in his dorm room, sore but intact. 

Their pace hastened, the man obviously desperate for release, his thick fingers digging ugly bruises into Laurent’s hips. His hands were almost large enough to wrap around Laurent’s entire waist. 

Laurent shivered at the observation, unintentionally clenching down on the cock inside him. The man let out a deep groan. 

Pulling out, he flipped Laurent to face him. Laurent, with only one, socked foot to hold himself up, lost his balance, and collapsed to the floor. The grimy, dirt-caked floor, on his bare ass. 

_Perfect._

The man pumped his cock, throbbing red at the tip, and stiffened. He then blew his load over Laurent’s hair and face. Droplets trickled from his chin to his chest, running in thick rivulets down his collarbones. It was sickeningly warm. 

The man kneeled. Close enough to get a whiff of the cheap beer on his breath. Barely a hint of flush to his face, but something savage and febrile in his gaze. His hand surged out and took a fistful of Laurent's hair, forcing their eyes to meet. 

“Pearl necklaces suit you, Princess,” he said. “You're hard. Were you hoping I’d come and dick you down?” 

Warmth flooded Laurent's face. He didn't need to look down to know the man spoke the truth. It wasn't his fault, only a physical reaction—his body seeking heat and friction after months of celibacy. 

Laurent bit his tongue bloody. It must have been what little survival instinct he still had left. His rumpled shirt and jacket barely clung to him, school bag, and pants in a heap on the floor. Save for the heavy cock hanging out of his pants, the man was still fully dressed. Laurent swallowed. 

Eyes following the bob of Laurent’s throat, the corner of the man’s lips curled upwards, carving lines, deep with malice, into his large, unshaven face. 

“Let’s have some fun.” 

* * *

They had only just passed through Varenne. The man had laid them both out, resting on their sides atop a row of cushioned seats. 

Laurent was panting, knees tucked to his chest. Four fingers in him, all to the hilt, the man lazily pumping them in and out of Laurent’s tired hole. The man probed around inside him, at anything he could, completely void of any technique. Yet, with Laurent as oversensitized as he was, it still managed to make him squirm. 

Every now and then, the man crooked his fingers, hard and deep, abusing Laurent’s prostate and chiding him about what a “ _needy hole_ ” he had, and how the driver could surely hear every “ _slutty moan_ ” that fell past his lips. 

“Your cunt’s so loose now.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’d like to get a fist in you.” The man thumbed at Laurent’s sore rim. Thankfully, “Maybe next time.” 

With a final jab of his fingers, the man removed himself, quickly applying his hands to Laurent’s hips and maneuvering him to kneel on the seats. Sighing, Laurent rested his head on the worn cushions. 

It was mercifully quick this time. There was no pain, but Laurent still white-knuckled it. His cock slid along the seatback, making his breath catch on the particularly hard thrusts. A few snaps of the man’s hips into Laurent’s abused hole, he was coming inside him. 

It was finally over. 

Laurent didn’t need to get off at his usual stop. He didn’t need this man knowing where he lived. He could exit the train at Chastillon and book it to Estienne’s townhouse. 

And Laurent would take a scalding shower and scrub the skin from his hide and he would type away at his laptop till sleep took him among his clean, white bedsheets that smelled of nothing but himself. He would be dead tired the next morning, polish off his A+ worthy research paper on the Akielo-Veretian war, and never have to think of this night again. 

But the man didn’t pull out. 

Moving with the train car, he rocked his length into Laurent in slow—excruciatingly slow—thrusts, practically scarring his handprint into Laurent’s hip. The sound of rustling. Laurent glanced over his shoulder to the glint of the man's lighter flicking open, the flame catching the end of a cigarette. 

Taking a long drag, “You make a nice cumslut,” he said, smoke staining his words. “Shame you’re such a bitch, you might get more action.” 

Laurent said, “I’ll kill you for this.” 

The cigarette twitched. 

Then Laurent was empty and being thrown to the floor. 

In the few seconds of freedom he had, Laurent managed to get his hands and knees under him before the man stomped him back down with the heel of his boot. 

Something was pressing at his hole. Laurent’s muscles were too exhausted to even attempt to fight whatever it was. Hard and chilling. Wide and round. It caught the rim, slipped inside. He could tell by the texture that it was a fucking beer can. 

“Keep that inside you—else I’ll have to fill you up again,” the man said, his acrid breath winding through Laurent’s throat and choking him. Despite himself, Laurent dry heaved. 

The man’s hungry smile returned. “The name’s Govart.” He blew a cloud of smoke into Laurent's face. As Laurent erupted into a coughing fit, the man said, “Come and find me anytime, Princess.” 


End file.
